


Song For Us

by MsNoGood



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsNoGood/pseuds/MsNoGood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod mourns the loss of Katrina. Abbie comforts him with a song.</p><p>  <i>They stood together in silence watching the stars.  Perhaps it was the chill in the air. Perhaps it was a profound sense of loneliness but somehow the two witnesses drifted towards each other; the backs of their hands touching just barely. His fingers tingled and stretched towards her. He felt a thrum when her fingers extended in response; their fingertips meeting before quickly weaving into each other.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Song For Us

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired but a Joanna Newsom song called "Emily." You can find it on youtube if you're curious, but the song takes commitment it's over twelve minutes long!  
> I've left the spelling of Lieutenant in Ichabod's phonetic pronunciation. It's endearing, bear with me.  
> This is my first fan fiction! Please leave reviews and or comments. Special thanks to Jazzypom for betaing for me. You made this story worth reading!

    A cold distant crescent moon beamed down on all of Sleepy Hollow.

Its wan light cast a ghostly pallor on all it illuminated. Ichabod stood alone in a glade just outside the forest. He made a stark figure even in near darkness; his long, lean frame crooked and arcing towards the sky. The cold night air was still and light pressing in through the gaps in his clothing, chilling him to the bone. His breath coalesced at his lips dancing upwards before dissipating. Up above, the clear night sky spread endlessly overhead; its sea of stars shining and merciless in their beauty. To Ichabod they glowered. Presently, he was as low as he could possibly get and the heavens could not even disdain themselves to dim their brilliance just this once.

   His mood swings were frequent these days. Just this evening he left the police station and Abbie in a fit of restless fury. She called after him out of concern but still she let him be.  Ichabod didn’t know whether to be bothered or grateful for her ability to read his moods. At the time he was certain that he wanted to be left alone. Now that he had his solitude he began to question himself. Why in god’s name was he in this glade in the first place? Why did he keep coming here? He knew the answers he just didn’t like them. When his gracious Katrina departed from this mortal coil she left him desolate and fearful with naught to comfort him.

   Of course there was a small happiness to take away from his current miserable state. His long-suffering wife was finally free. When she begged him to free her from her otherworldly imprisonment he foolishly believed that they would be together again. His own existence was owed to some extraordinary odds. Might not those exceptions be applicable to Katrina as well? Fortune had never been so favorable to one man as he had learned that night so many months ago when he lost Katrina in a brutal stroke of finality.

   He replayed those last moments over and over in his head. Always searching for some error on his part or a solution that he missed the first time. He needed to blame himself so he might correct it. But always it was the same; the bones, the spell, recited perfectly.  It seemed it would work. She appeared briefly shining like an angel before Moloch, the demon who held her captive, tore through the veil after her. So jealous and full of wrath was he, that a plaything of his might win free that he rent her asunder. And thus Ichabod’s life became this; dull, morose, inchoate.

 

  “It’s very pretty isn’t it?” A familiar voice called from behind, breaking Ichabod’s cycling between reverie and wretchedness.

  “Ms. Mills, naturally you should find me.” he greeted as Abbie took two steps closer to him.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “I’m not sure a few minutes or so. I don’t track the time; I wasn’t made aware of the necessity.”

  “Hey I just need to know that you’re alright,” eyes still skyward, Ichabod shook his head.

  “Leftenant, if I seem melancholy it’s only because I am stargazing. There is something about the vastness of the cosmos that leaves one with a sense of longing.” He finished with a quick, tight smile. Abbie followed his gaze upwards craning her neck in the process.

  “You know I can tell when you’re lying. You’ve been out here every night for the past three months now. I don’t mind, just tonight it’s my turn to drive you home.”

  “ Nothing escapes your watchful eye, Leftenant.”  Ichabod caught her look of exasperation. He didn’t mean to be snappish but his mood was dour. He felt judged and left wanting by her. Even presumed the insult still rankled. Ichabod folded his arms across his chest expelling a deep breath. He turned towards her, watching her tiny figure in the soft moonlight. Her eyes fixed on the stars, neck crooked backwards and her hips rocked to maintain equilibrium. He continued.

  “At least I am not running amok like a madman. This…” He pointed to the sky, “Is healthy.”

   His eyes returned skyward. They stood together in silence watching the stars.  Perhaps it was the chill in the air. Perhaps it was a profound sense of loneliness but somehow the two witnesses drifted towards each other; the backs of their hands touching just barely. His fingers tingled and stretched towards her. He felt a thrum when her fingers extended in response; their fingertips meeting before quickly weaving into each other. Her hands were so warm.  Ichabod managed a true brief smile.

  “Why, Ms. Mills, you’re a tiny furnace!”  

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean to say that you’re very warm for a person of such a small stature.” It was quick but he caught her expression of weary recognition. Almost on cue she explained.

  “ You aren’t the first person to say something like that.”

  “Oh?” There was a spark in his eyes now, “ Was it Luuuke?” His imagination could supply most of the answers but his mischievous side wanted to hear Abbie say it. She cut her eyes at him, sighing before giving way to a knowing grin.

  “Well, Luke used to complain how overheated he got trying to spoon with me.” Abbie’s eyes grew bright and her grin stretched wider as she continued, “Of course I’d make him do it anyway.” Her nostrils flared as she released a heated breath,  “Among other things.”

  “Spoon?”  He leaned in eager for an explanation for what he was sure was some salacious modern mating ritual. At that moment a shooting star streaked overhead. Ichabod gasped. Another one sped across the night sky and Ichabod felt the power of the universe breaking his heart anew.

  “Do you suppose…one of those is her? That Katrina’s soul is racing towards heaven?”

Without thinking Abbie answered,her voice nearly breathless : _“The meteorite is the source of the light/And the meteor’s just what we see. /And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.”_ Her fingers shot to her lips covering them; her eyes cast downwards.  Ichabod stared incredulous.

  “How cruel to destroy my comfort with poetry.”

  “I’m sorry.” She offered quickly, facing him as she did so. “It’s a song I love. I’m sorry.” He watched her face. He knew she meant no harm but the sting of her words lingered.

  “A song?”

  “Yeah, just a song. It’s not even correct. I mean meteorites are what crashes to earth and meteoroids are still in space but if she sung it like that, I suppose that would ruin the rhyme scheme…” Ichabod had never seen Abbie ramble on like this. She was so expressive when she was embarrassed. He found it endearing but he remained silent. As he pondered this turn of events he saw that Abbie had turned from him, shaking her head. An awkward silence filled the space between them. She pointed at the woods not far from them.

  “Do you want to try and find it?”

  “Find what?”

  “The meteorite…” then tentatively, “For Katrina.” His eyes, which had not left her face, followed her gesture. Another slightly uncomfortable silence passed before he acquiesced.

  “Very well. Lead the way.” Abbie took off in a half jog, half walk and although she had a head start Ichabod’s loping gait cut her lead with very little effort. She slowed down as she approached the closest tree. When Ichabod was close enough he asked after her.

  “The song…what is it called?” Abbie slipped into the forest. The darkness seemed to swallow her whole.  If not for the moonlight catching stars in her hair and smooth comely skin he might have lost sight of her. The tip of Ichabod’s tongue snaked out quickly edging his lip. He felt a prick of anticipation at his back. Glancing back at him she answered, “It’s called ‘Emily’. It’s a little long and not usually to my tastes but I love it anyway.” They walked on, careful to avoid branches that strayed into their path. Ichabod was nervous in the pitch black of the forest. Thankfully Abbie had her flashlight, which she employed for their benefit. Still curious, Ichabod continued in the same vein of questioning.

  “Do you know it?”

  “Huh?” She had looked over her shoulder to answer and placed her foot down clumsily causing her to wobble on the unsure footing. Ichabod caught her elbow steadying her.

“Please tread lightly, Ms. Mills,” he smiled down at her. “The bramble is thick and our path somewhat arduous.”

  Abbie returned his smile and nodded.

“Right. I’ll be more careful.” Ichabod cleared his throat catching up the thread of his query once more.

  “The words of the song, do you know them?”

  Abbie nodded. “Most of them, yes.”

  “Will you sing it?” Abbie stopped abruptly. Ichabod had to cut short his stride to avoid colliding with her.

  “I’m…not a good singer.”

Undeterred, Ichabod folded his hands behind his back studying her closely.

  “Nonetheless, I should like to hear it.”  Sensing her reluctance, he came to stand in front of her fixing her with a determined stare, reaching out he touched the very end of her chin which caused her to look up at him. His eyes softened as they met hers. He found her discomfiture with singing an amusing contrast to her frankness concerning her romantic life.

  “Please, sing it while we walk.” He did not say what he truly thought. That the noise in his mind was maddening and he was infinitely curious about the things she loved. Instead he offered a casual smile and a slight nod.

  “It should help pass the time.”

After a strained pause she shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

  “Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He watched her eyes darting everywhere, landing on all things except him before settling on the ground. After a brief interval she exhaled softly, finding her voice.

 

_“The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow /set to the sky in a flying spree for the sport of the pharaoh.”_

 

  One of Ichabod’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up as he listened. No he had not been expecting that. Abbie continued, still watching her feet. She sang of trees, churches and surprisingly, farmlife. At first he thought it might be a song from his time still somehow sung today. But he was not familiar with it. He was intrigued now. How had she come to know such a song?

  Ichabod moved from in front of Abbie and walked a little ahead. Abbie still singing followed, picking a careful path through the rocks and broken branches that littered the forest floor. Her voice was breathy and at times unsteady; sometimes sweet and warbling when she hit the proper notes. It grew stronger as she moved along; fingertips skimming low–hanging branches and full open palm caresses of the trunks of passing trees. Once their eyes locked again she sang with more confidence.  Smiling, she hopped playfully into his path before trotting on; substituting the titular character for him as she continued her song. He stopped to lean against a tree content to watch her as she maneuvered over a fallen log, the natural hum of the forest lulling him into a serene state.  His closed his eyes letting himself just listen.

  Pleasingly, in Abbie’s amended version he not only appeared in her dreams he had urged her to write about the very stars that crowned them this night. Ichabod was delighted to see this new playful side of her. And knowing Abbie as he did he could deduce that very few people ever learned about this part of her. That made this moment even more precious to him. When he opened his eyes again he noticed that she had gotten farther ahead and actually slipped from view. Ichabod might have panicked; she was gone so fast but her song carried itself to him on the wind. Again he heard the words that started this venture, the chorus of the meteorite.

  Ichabod followed the sound of her voice, suddenly gripped with a heart-wrenching wistfulness. The song was indeed beautiful. Even in Abbie’s imperfect voice. That a song like this was still sung in this time was a miracle. He could tell by Abbie’s pauses and melodic humming that the music of the song was more of his time than any other. He wanted to learn the words for himself so he could sing with her.

  Where was she? Her torchlight had vanished and her voice had paused again. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness but even still it was difficult to see. He strained against the sounds of crickets and nocturnal beasts that inhabited the forest, listening for her song. Faintly now, he heard her humming the melody again and he hurried to find her taking heed of the branches and stones that obstructed his path.  He could see the back of her head as she stood swaying. The moonlight dappling gently over her face and the current of air carrying her hair softly in time with the trees gave an ephemeral quality to her appearance. He stopped some several feet from her.

  “Abigail…” He tried controlling his expression but he felt his face falling. She turned and upon seeing his eyes wet with unshed tears she stopped singing and went to him. Placing her hand on his chest she looked up at him imploring, her lips poised with a question. His hand clasped over hers. Bringing her hand to his lips he kissed it.

  “Please do not stop, I very much want to hear the rest of it.” He blinked several times; clenching his jaw and inhaling deeply in an effort to maintain decorum. Abbie, using her free hand returned her flashlight to her belt hook before reaching up to brush his cheek with the back of her fingers. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes finally letting those unshed tears streak down his face.  She raised up on her tip toes using her thumb to gently wipe his tears away. She tilted her head smiling up at him. Softly now, she sang for him.

  In her way she had compared him to a rain after a long parched drought; that people might have seen him but they did not know him as she did. This woman had unwittingly grasped his secret fear and crushed it utterly in her tiny graceful hands.Raising the maglite again; Abbie took hold of his hand, pulling him deeper into the woods. Her flashlight swept back and forth in front of them like a eerie pendulum of light.

  She urged him on both in song and spirit. The song had taken on a deeper meaning for Ichabod. To him she was singing of their fates, bound twofold in despondent suffering and blissful ecstasy. She could not understand her words he decided. Why should a song have this effect on him? But it was too late his heart had heard her song before his mind had time to silence it. And for whom? For what? The idea of fighting it now made him ache. So he let himself be lead by her, feeling relief in their closeness. When had things changed? He could not pinpoint the incident; perhaps they were changing in this very moment. The turn of a screw, the passing of a season gradual and imperceptible until one was knee-deep in feelings they didn’t quite understand but perfectly content to be pulled along in this eddy of emotion. They walked side by side now, hand in hand sharing warmth.

  Now the trees thinned here, giving way to a tiny clearing and in the moonlight was a modest sized black rock. The meteorite. And still she sang. The fragility of life, joy in the company of loved ones and wanting it to last forever.

Ichabod let go of Abbie’s hand. Drawn to the stone he knelt beside it. His hand tentatively reached towards it. He hesitated, expecting it to be hot. Taking the space stone in his grasp he found it was surprisingly cold, dull in color but with fascinating grooves and pits carved into it that his fingers slipped in and out of easily.

He walked back to where Abbie stood waiting. Holding the meteorite in both hands as if it would crumble otherwise, staring at it intently. She reached out and touched it gingerly before looking up at him. They shared a tender smile lost in each other’s gaze. The seed in his heart gave action to his mind. He felt the words true and noble birth themselves there. He felt them quicken on his tongue and tumble from his lips without impediment. A feeling, an ache, a new way of living sprang forth to life in the air between them as he spake the words:

“Grace Abigail Mills, I love thee.”

 


End file.
